Little Heart Attacks
by Sofsofi
Summary: Collection of One-Shots. 02: Stalker. Minato wasn't a stalker. Really.
1. Chapter 1

**Author note:** I know I should probably be working on _Chained_, but I just couldn't put my mind on it now. This little project acts as experiment, stress-reliever, and writer's block treatment, all in one. Hope you like it, guys.

**Disclaimer:** Naruto is Masashi Kishimoto's.

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**First Stroke:** Old

_So old_, Kakashi muses as rain ruthlessly falls on him, rivulets of icy water running down his spine and chilling what is left of his senses.

Even through the numbness that veils his mind, the Jounin still finds it in himself to feel grateful for the rain. He is far too lethargic to know if the teardrops that he can feel on his cheeks are his or the sky's, but he isn't too fond of the idea of anyone finding out. Because, really, now he's too old a ninja for ostentatious sorrow.

Droplets fall on Sasuke's ghastly face, soaking Sasuke's lifeless body, and part of Kakashi's mind, the tiny part which didn't drown in the utter shock of loss, wonders if this is real. Because, really, this is just ludicrous. Sasuke couldn't just die. Naruto hasn't just brought and laid out and knelt beside a corpse, before beginning to howl ragged sobs of pain that shot sheer terror in the Jounin's core.

But Kakashi's too old to lie to himself. Too old not to be pragmatic and reasonable and sensible and knowing. And he just _knows_. He knows Sasuke's too cold, too far gone to be brought back, too peaceful to be awoken in a world where only rage and insanity await him, to break what's left of him. And he seems so young, too. He seems like his thirteen old self, and it tears Kakashi, good old experienced-Jounin genius Kakashi, tears him to shreds more so than a mutilated cadaver could.

Sakura's there too, he belatedly realizes. She's kneeling, silent and still and frozen in time and pain, her forehead pressed to Sasuke's, her mute tears trickling down his dark hair, and Kakashi thinks that till the end, her pleas would have been wasted on deaf ears. And he suddenly realizes that what really is tragic isn't Sasuke's death, but the loss of that thirteen-year-old wounded boy who had been so close to finally let go of his demons. And it finally registers.

Sasuke's dead.

Finally, Kakashi feels bereaved warmth stain his cheeks. Because no one's too old to cry.

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**A.N:** First depressing thing I've ever written, also first take on Kakashi. Hope it came out alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author note:** Drabbles are addictive things to write. I just discovered that.

**Disclaimer:** *insert classic disclaimer*

**Second Stroke:** Stalker

Minato wasn't a stalker. Sure, he followed Kushina around a little (too much), but keeping an eye on a dear **friend** (_don't-roll-your-eyes_) was basic camaraderie fondness. So what if basic camaraderie fondness prompted him sometimes to maim, injure or at least permanently psychologically traumatize any guy who was too eager to walk her home? Keeping your comrades safe was one of the first steps that led the way to a brilliant Hokage career. And also maybe a brilliant marriage, but that wasn't the point. Because Minato was only doing it on pure altruistic, friendly impulse.

He knew what Jiraiya would say to him, hadn't he been on some "urgent research" in some hot spring village. He would flatly demand he ask her out already. Or at least get laid, because a stalking eighteen-year-old virgin wasn't only an irritating eyesore, it was downright pathetic. And maybe, deep down, Minato kind of felt that way, too.

But whenever he decided to lie low for too long, Kushina would always do something to propel him back to work. It wasn't anything definite: a scrutinizing stare, an innocent inquiry about his health, a look over her shoulders every now and then. As if t_o make sure he'd follow her_, as he usually did. As if she _knew_ he chased after her, watching her every move, but didn't bother. On the contrary, _expecting_ and _seeking_ his attention.

Minato didn't know how long she wanted to drag out this game of sorts between them. He wasn't even sure there was a game to begin with. But, as long as her blue eyes mischievously taunted him, sending waves of teasing thrill through him, he'd pursue her. Until she'd indulge herself to get caught.

**A.N:** Any kind of feedback is always welcome.


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